


Thorns and All

by Ghuleh_heart



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-06-03 20:37:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19471732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghuleh_heart/pseuds/Ghuleh_heart
Summary: He had heard of this happening, to humans, mostly, and knew what it could entail. And, seeing as he couldn’t exactly go to a doctor, he racked his brain for ideas. Could he miracle this away? A cold or another human ailment, sure, no problem other than it was less than demonic to heal someone. And curses? He could break or bestow those with ease. But an illness based in magic, strong enough to affect a demon? He had no idea.-Crowley and Aziraphale both have hanahaki, and they're both too stubborn to say anything.





	1. 01

**Author's Note:**

> ok, so @peepo suggested this and i adore hanahaki aus, so natch i wrote some. i have no idea if i'll continue this, not because i dislike it but because of who i am fundamentally as a human and what my brain says about multi chapter fics. so my condolences if its only one chapter forever.

For weeks, Crowley thinks he, somehow, has gotten sick. Never mind the fact that demons can’t get sick without some major magical meddling, and he doesn’t think he’s upset any witches lately. But the strange throbbing ache in his chest and the scratch in his throat have to be coming from somewhere, and he just can’t think of any other better reason. So he drinks some lemon tea, sleeps a tad more regularly, and even washes his hands. And things don’t get worse, so he assumes he’ll get better.

And then, one day, he coughs.

Once, shallowly, to clear the itch, but that sets a chain of events into motion that leaves him hacking into the kitchen sink. Something has been coughed up, he feels it for sure, and it brings back an uncomfortable memory of bezoars in the 10th century. He hangs his head and groans, leaning over to open a cabinet to get a glass for water, and when he looks into the sink he freezes.

He had heard of this happening, to humans, mostly, and knew what it could entail. And, seeing as he couldn’t exactly go to a doctor, he racked his brain for ideas. Could he miracle this away? A cold or another human ailment, sure, no problem other than it was less than demonic to heal someone. And curses? He could break or bestow those with ease. But an illness based in magic, strong enough to affect a demon? He had no idea.

He filled his glass, drank from it, and shattered it against the wall.

He could Not go to hell with this. Not only would he be a laughing stock, he would be seen as unfit for his job on earth. He would be lucky if was appointed a job in hell, and for sure he wouldn’t be able to come back to earth for the devil knows how long. No more bentley, no more Queen, no more Aziraphale-

He stared at the petals in the sink. White, satiny petals, spotted with deep red blood and a segment of thorny branch.

Well, he thought, That’s why it hurt so damn badly.

White roses, though. That’s not very demonic. Quite the opposite. He began to pace, carefully putting on his dark glasses. He needed to get out, go somewhere he could not think about this. There was a bar down the road, one open late enough and just unsavory enough for his tastes.

He really needed a drink.

-

Aziraphale lifted the tea cup to his lips, taking a delicate sip while his free hand idly massaged his throat. He hadn’t been feeling tip top for a while, and was completely at a loss as to what could be causing it. He had consulted a few of his books of medicine, although many were quite old and wildly inaccurate, he thought they would at least give him an idea of where to start.

Angels, of course, did not get sick.

But here he was, sipping lemon tea (with a slice lemon-blueberry cake complimenting it perfectly) and looking up what could possibly be happening. Something wrong with his body, perhaps? He had had it for a very long time now, and most other angels had switched one or two times by then. But he quite liked this one, and unless he needed to, he didn’t really want to get another body yet.

The book in front of him would be no help, he decided, and closed it gently.

The tickle in his throat grew stronger, and he coughed slightly to clear it, but that only made it worse. A sharp pain grew in his chest as he coughed, making him rise frantically, gripping the table and looking for something to steady his breathing. He felt something rise in his throat and shakily covered his mouth with his handkerchief, pure white and embroidered with delicate flowers.

After a short but very unpleasant struggle, he managed to dislodge whatever was causing him such discomfort and-

Well, then.

His handkerchief was speckled with a few small drops of blood, which worried him before he saw the tiny blossom inside it, white with pink around the edges, a couple inches smaller than his palm. 

An apple blossom.

Aziraphale swallowed down the metallic tang of blood, eyes glued to the flower.

“Oh, dear.” He spoke quietly in his empty shop and brushed a couple smears of blood off the petals. It was placed next to his abandoned cup and cake (seeing it had made him lose his appetite) and he took a few careful steps back, like the flower would leap at him. He wrung his hands.

“Oh, dear.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, anathema is um. my wife. and she wishes these two occult/divine beings would just. deal with their own problems and feelings like adults.
> 
> also asffsdh im so slow at chapters, this is why i only write one shots. but here ya go
> 
> still at @creepy-aj-crawley on tumblo, come say hi

Aziraphale fiddled with the hem of his sleeves, pacing back and forth in front of his old rotary phone as he decided whether or not to call Crowley. Would he know what to do? Probably not. Would he feel better if he spoke to him? Probably. Could he honestly tell Crowley what was happening? About the apple blossoms growing in his lungs, constricting his breath a little bit tighter every day? 

No, he decided. He absolutely couldn’t.

Someone, though, he had to tell someone! He couldn’t keep this to himself.

He stopped, looking at the phone for a long moment.

There was that young woman in tadfield. Agnes Nutter’s descendant. Anathema. She was a witch, wasn’t she? Or witch adjacent, at least.

He picked up the receiver and began to dial. It was worth a shot.

-

“An.. and… you know, that big bloody mountain? That one real big bugger, Evans or-”

“Everest?” Anathema sat at the table, head propped up on one hand and staring blankly at the drunk demon stumbling on the other side of the kitchen.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. 

“Yyyeeeaaaaah. That bastard. Big- ugh. Big bastard. And it’s like this- it’s like- It’s not even REAL, they just- its-”

“Crowley!” Anathema raised her voice just barely, running her hand over her face.

“Will you please, please just tell me why you’re here?”

Crowley had shown up at 4 am on a drizzly autumn day in Tadfield, completely drunk off his ass with a second bottle of jack daniels in his hand, sitting on the porch of Anathemas cottage until either she or Newt found him (It was Newt, who until that moment was completely convinced that his life would be free of angels and demons and all of those sorts of things after the almost apocalypse. He was wrong). He had woken Anathema, who he was planning on making breakfast for, but the drunk demon has squashed that idea by downing half the bottle of whiskey and ranting to him about who knows what while the witch got dressed.

“Right, right, yeah, just let me- hrnnnng!” He clenched his whole body, and Anathema watched the bottle refill with a mixture of disgust and resignation. When it was full again, he smacked his lips a couple times with an unpleasant expression, and then finally sat down.

They were both silent for a long while, Crowley having taken a napkin out of his pocket and placed it on the table. A couple small blood droplets had seeped through from the contents. Anathema raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak first, and sighing when he didn't.

"Did you get pricked by a flower?"

Crowley scowled at her half-heartedly.

"I coughed it up this morning." 

"Oh. Ooooooh." The witches eyes widened a bit, and she took the rose bits into her hands, turning them over.

"I actually… haven't seen this happen before. I thought the last case of this was, what, seven, eight hundred years ago?"

"Yeah, sure, look, can you, you know," Crowley waved his hand vaguely. "Make it go away."

"This isn't really my specialty," she hesitated, putting the napkin back on the table. "Do you think Aziraphale would-"

"No." Anathema cocked an eyebrow. She could have sworn Crowley began to sweat.

“It’s- well- It’s none of his business. More important things to do, and all that.”

Anathema leaned back in her chair, looking at him. If he wasn’t a demon, he would have squirmed under her gaze. She smirked.

“...White roses, huh?”

“Look, do you have a-a book, or a spell, or some weed killer or something that will stop this?” 

In another room, the phone began to ring. Anathema figured Newt would get it, and sighed.

“I’ll be honest, I do, but the consequences of removing this is pretty bad.”

“I’ll chance it, this won’t just discorporate me, so basically any other option is better.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. The doesn’t just remove the flowers, Crowley. You won't be able to feel love, or joy, or anything much at all.”

She couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark glasses, but he looked pensive for a long moment.

“Well, I’m a demon aren’t I? It’d be fitting.”

“You could just. Tell him.” She said, voice quiet.

“No,” Crowley murmured. “I can’t.”

“Um.” Newt stood in the doorway, holding the phone. “It’s for you.” He gestured at Anathema.

She sighed, looking once more at the demon before sanding to take the call.

“Yes?” She listened for a long time, eyes flicking back to Crowley, immediately formulating a plan. A smile crept onto her face.

“Oh, I think I have just the thing for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Aziraphale next chapter, I just really want crowley and anathema to be friends. wlw/mlm solidarity


	3. quick update

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, oops.
> 
> im active on tumblr @you-have-rats, you can yell at me for updates there

Whew, it's uhh, been a while, huh?

yeah, sorry about that.

despite what my actions may say, i have not abandoned this fic! my brain just wanted a break from writing. but im working on the next/last chapter (and a new fic entirely) and it should be up not too much later this week!

thank you everyone for the comments, they really mean the world to me, and i cant wait to release the last part of this story!

\- Deer_heart


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here it is. the end. hope you like it.
> 
> to inspire the cure anathema was gonna use, i was inspired by the "unwanted lover" and "no love lost" spells in the book Pastel Spells by Rose Orriculum (orriculum.tumblr.com) if ur into magic, check it out

Anathema sent Crowley home, promising a cure within a few days.

“Do you really think you can deceive them both?” Newt wandered around the kitchen, peeking over her shoulder as she gathered and ground ingredients, putting this and that into the mortar, looking into a book, and pouring things into and out of bottles.

“Honestly? Yeah, probably.” She tied small sticks together with red thread, maneuvering them to look vaguely person-like, and mixed some water into a bowl of ash.

“What’s that?” Newt leaned down to look in the bowl, then realised he probably shouldn’t do that.

“Rose ash.” Anathema answered, “and apple seeds. And flowers from those two.” Newt stared.

“Huh.”

Anathema smiled, knowing he didn’t always get the whole witch business, and smeared a dollop of the paste onto the center of the doll.

“It’s a cure.”

Newt raised his eyebrows. “A real cure?”

Anathema nodded. “They both asked for one. So they’ll both get one.” Her voice was resolute and she smiled pleasantly, making an identical stick figure, covering the torso with the ash paste, and then tying them both in a white cloth.

“Don’t worry,” she patted his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “It won't get that far.”

Crowley and Aziraphale stood alone in the fields near Tadfield. Anathema had called them both, but had neglected to mention the other would be there, and they had tried to make awkward small talk for a while, desperately hoping that there wouldn’t be any questions about why they were there. They had been making sparce comments about the weather when Anathema arrived.

“Sorry!” She called, unslinging her bag from her shoulder. “Last minute prep. You both ready?”

The angel and demon looked at each other.

“B… both?” Aziraphales eyes darted to Crowley quickly.

“Yup.” she popped the ‘p’. “Both of you with hanahaki at the same time. Isn’t that weird.” She kept her tone casual, playing it off as some strange little coincidence while the two beings stared at each other wide eyed.

“Well,” Aziraphale coughed. “I guess that’s what you meant when you turned down dinner the other day.” Anathema stifled an eye roll while she took her supplies out. He asked him to dinner? Man, they were really both idiots in love.

“I… yes. I uh, hoped to have this cleared up quickly.” Crowley muttered, not quite looking at the angel, who was nearly wringing his hands.

“Do you know.. Who?” 

Crowley swallowed nervously at the question, nodding as Anathema took out the two stick figures, some tinder, an apple, a knife, and some matches. Ash flaked off the figures when she unwrapped them, putting each one on its own pile of dry brush.

“Do you?”

“Yes. Did you tell them?”

Crowley barked out a harsh laugh. 

“I don’t think I would be doing this if I had. What about you?”

“I… no. I should, but…” The angel sighed. “There’s no way he could reciprocate.”

Anathemas hands paused, and she watched them dance around their words.

“He?” Crowley prodded, trying to sound casual. Aziraphale was silent for a long moment.

“He,” he swallowed, turning his head so all Crowley could see was the tips of his ears turn pink. “Or they. She, sometimes.” He murmured.

His words ricocheted in Crowleys mind as he made sense of them. He couldn’t mean- he wasn’t talking about- did he mean-

“-Me?” He asked, incredulously. He couldn’t possibly, but then Aziraphale nodded, wringing his hands.

“You really- Me? I never- I would-” He dissolved into babbling for a couple seconds before grasping Aziraphales hands.

“Me.” He said, ensuring he understood.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I never meant-” Aziraphale didn’t meet his eyes until Crowley had his face in both his hands and was pressing his lips hesitantly against his own.

Anathema began packing the spell ingredients back into her bag.

When Crowley pulled back, Aziraphales eyes were wide.

“Were you-”

“It was you, too.” Crowley breathed, relief and love filling his heart.

“Oh, my dear boy.” He cradled the demons face with his hands, mirroring him before leaning towards him for a second kiss.

“I’ll um,” Anathema shrugged her bag onto her shoulder while they embraced. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” 

Neither of them heard her.

**Author's Note:**

> *gentle break dancing* its 4:30 am, the only time i can write, so sorry if its like. word salad.
> 
> White roses symbolize purity and true love, apple blossoms, aside from being thematically appropriate, symbolize eternal love and happiness.
> 
> if i do continue this, i really want Anathema to be a part of this, because um. im lesbian for her.


End file.
